Minty Alley

by C. L. R. James

  ‘You will wash them or leave,’ said Mrs. Rouse. But Maisie had her way.

  So that sometimes after going to bed at eleven or twelve Philomen would rise in the morning at four o’clock to do her washing. Money, too, was scarce. She did not dress nearly so well on Sundays as before. And often Haynes met her treading the burning roads on the soles of her own feet. The slippers worn out and no money being forthcoming to buy more, she wore the tops for respectability’s sake and went her way as cheerful as usual. Her lightest day was Sunday. She did not have to go up and down, but she worked in the house the whole day until about five, when she started to prepare for her evening out with Sugdeo. She never complained. Whenever she was called it was: ‘Comin’, Mr. Haynes.’ ‘Comin’, Mrs. Rouse.’ And it was a long time before she ever hinted to Haynes that she found Mrs. Rouse’s temper trying. Whenever she spoke of Mrs. Rouse it was to express sympathy. Mrs. Rouse on her side always talked of Philomen with love and gratitude. (When the atmosphere of No. 2 changed as it did change with almost catastrophic suddenness, she never spoke of Philomen at all.) Mrs. Rouse would sometimes give Haynes a joke about one of the lodgers or somebody in the house.

  Philomen came out of the kitchen one evening, well-dressed, scarf around her head, and gave them both, standing by the door, a happy good evening.

  ‘Off to meet Sugdeo, Philomen?’

  ‘Yes, Mr. Haynes. We are going for a drive to Rockville.’

  ‘All right. Don’t let me keep you back,’ for she would stand there and talk about him for ten minutes.

  ‘That is another one,’ said Mrs. Rouse, when Philomen had gone. ‘All that drive they going for i’s Philomen’s money, Mr. Haynes.’

  ‘Sugdeo is not paying?’

  ‘Not a brass farthing. Philomen buy socks for him, shirts, tie, every time they going in the car she give him money to buy tickets. She draw a little chitty and lend him all the money. Love him! But she is not going to get it back. And Philomen is not a little girl. Philomen has carried on a lot of life already. As long as she don’t bring it into the house where I am, I don’t bother her. She is not a child after all. But now she hold on to this man and you would believe he is the first man the girl ever love. All right, Mr. Haynes.’

  Mrs. Rouse had not left a minute when Maisie came in.

  ‘I heard you and Mrs. Rouse talking,’ she said, taking a cigarette.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can’t bear to hear her. She laughing at Philomen and Sugdeo. She have eyes to see them, but she haven’t eyes to see herself. I am sure if I wanted to laugh, she and how Benoit treat her would be the first thing I would laugh at.’

  Mrs. Rouse could struggle with cake-making, disorder in the house, persecutions from outside, everything. But one person was too much for her. That was Maisie, and by any form of trial Mrs. Rouse would have been acquitted if she had long ago driven Maisie from the house. Warfare was open and every succeeding week saw them more bitterly at it than ever. Mischievous as she had been before, the audacity of her escapade with Sergeant Parkes and evasion of the consequences seemed to tap new sources of devilry, and Mrs. Rouse and Philomen paid. Haynes remonstrated with her, but the antagonism between herself and Mrs. Rouse was fundamental. Maisie was, to Mrs. Rouse’s brooding and distorted imagination, the origin and immediate cause of the tragedy of her life. Maisie fought back tooth and nail. It was no use Haynes telling her that she must make allowances. Haynes enumerated all that Mrs. Rouse had undergone, the work she had to do, the struggle against creditors, the annoyances of Benoit and the nurse which never ceased. Maisie never even listened seriously. She would keep silence and then invariably reply that it was no use.

  ‘So you were saying, Mr. Haynes. But you don’t understand Mrs. Rouse. Whatever I do, we will always quarrel. She have no use for me, I have none for her. I have one or two friends trying to get a job for me and when I get a job she will only know that I gone when people tell her.’

  She was barely seventeen, but big and strong, and she grew taller and stronger and more attractive every day. With the lack of any check, except Mrs. Rouse’s futile eruptions, she grew as fierce as a young tigress. After a time nobody in the yard could tell her anything. There were days when she would fly out at even a glance. ‘What you see on me to look at? I wearing anything belonging to you?’ Haynes alone could keep her quiet.

  The quarrel might start with Miss Atwell or with Philomen (a singularly inoffensive person) or with a neighbour. But however it started the end was always the same. Mrs. Rouse was drawn in and then, with seconds off the stage, the principals would have it out. And all Mrs. Rouse’s very real dignity would be of no avail against Maisie’s barbed darts. If Haynes was there he called her into his room and she always came, pausing on the top step to fire a parting shot. Otherwise she raged unchecked.

  Night after night she held court by the gate, the centre of half a dozen young men.

  ‘Don’t mind me talking to those boys, Mr. Haynes,’ she told him once quite unsolicited. ‘I laugh and joke with them. But no further. As long as we are together, I wouldn’t risk picking up anything and give it to you.’ But all the boys came to talk to Maisie and they carried on till late. Many a night Mrs. Rouse would lock the door, and it was Miss Atwell who got up to open for Maisie. Miss Atwell spoke to Maisie about it, but the girl answered with a vigour that silenced criticism.

  ‘What do you expect me to do? I mustn’t have friends? I can’t bring them in here, so I have to meet them in the road.’

  ‘Bring them in here!’ said Mrs. Rouse, overhearing, as Maisie had intended her to overhear. ‘I wouldn’t tell you what I will throw on them if I catch one of them in my house.’

  ‘Yet when you finish you say I am common,’ said Maisie. ‘Who have no respect for Mr. Haynes, now?’

  ‘Look here, young woman, mind your stops with me.’ Mrs. Rouse came to the kitchen door. ‘Mind your stops or I’ll bathe you down with this boiling pot of jam and mark you for life.’

  ‘I’ll sleep in the hospital, but you’ll sleep in the gaol.’

  Mrs. Rouse advanced into the yard with the cauldron in her hand. Maisie had her back to the mango tree, ready, even to be marked for life. Miss Atwell came out of her kitchen and held Mrs. Rouse’s arm. ‘Leave her alone, Mrs. Rouse. You have enough troubles on your shoulders. Don’t put yourself in more. God, I wish something could happen and this girl would go away from this house. Go in to Mr. Haynes, Maisie. God have bless him and give him that power over you. Otherwise, child, I don’t know where you’d be this day.’

  And as the quarrels increased in number and fierceness it became clear that sooner or later a split was inevitable. And the mere idea of this hung over Haynes like a sword. For, accustomed to thinking about himself and seeing his own life very clearly these days, he realized that much as he liked and admired and respected Mrs. Rouse, No. 2 without Maisie would now be unbearable. It wasn’t only the sleeping with her. They met elsewhere for this purpose and that could continue. But for the first time in his life he had a friend. If she left this life was over. He knew that he would leave. But if he left because Maisie left no water would wash it that he had only stayed there on account of Maisie. That was not true and yet would be a final and bitter disillusionment for Mrs. Rouse. He set himself to keep the peace and ward off the impending catastrophe.

  And yet it was Philomen, the good, the faithful and the true, who went first.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The break between Mrs. Rouse and Philomen developed with alarming suddenness. Though Maisie devoted her attention to Mrs. Rouse as the chief enemy, she did not neglect Philomen, whom she hated quite as much as Mrs. Rouse and found it far easier ‘to dig’ or ‘to grind’.

  Philomen had her hands full. The work in the house and in the kitchen. The up and down in the sun (that year eighty-seven in the shade), Sugdeo. Even Mrs. Rouse forgot all that Philomen was doing and began to speak to her so roughly that Philomen complained to Haynes once or twice with tears i
n her eyes. She did not have much time to speak to him now, but still she managed to let him know that Sugdeo was not only moody and overbearing, but unfaithful. This, she said, was because she never had time to go out with him as before. Often, even on a Sunday, she had work to do. And Maisie’s persistent pin-pricking, planned and executed with ingenuity, care and discretion was directed chiefly against Philomen’s having one peaceful moment with Sugdeo at No. 2.

  Philomen slept on a bench in the kitchen as there was no room for her in the house now. Late at night Sugdeo would come up to No. 2, pass through the window, and Philomen would entertain him. They were very quiet about it and nobody knew. But somehow Maisie got a hint and one night complained suddenly of a pain and said that she wanted a kettle to boil tea. She got up, rushed outside, opened the kitchen door and made a tremendous fuss because she saw a man in the kitchen. It was nearly twelve and Mrs. Rouse was still awake, waiting for midnight to say her prayers. She came out to see what had so startled Maisie and was very annoyed with Philomen. Poor Philomen could scarcely hold up her head the next morning, Maisie was laughing all the day, and the air was thick with remarks about thieves and kitchens and others more suggestive.

  That morning when she was cleaning Haynes’s shoes, Maisie asked innocently if he had heard the noise the night before. But Haynes was waiting for her. He told her he had not got up because he knew she was no more frightened than he was and he didn’t want to hear anything about it because he wasn’t interested.

  ‘But on the dresser, Mr. Haynes, where people cook food.’

  ‘That has nothing to do with it at all. You had no right. You and the girl don’t agree. She leaves you alone, you should leave her alone.’

  ‘Leave her alone? Never. Every chance I get to dig her, I will.’

  ‘Yes, but look at the result. Everybody hates you. Mrs. Rouse, Miss Atwell, Philomen.’

  ‘You, too! Don’t forget to put yourself in.’

  ‘Now you are trying to put me off. But unless you—’

  ‘All right, Mr. Haynes, all right.’

  ‘Yes, but you must listen.’

  ‘No. I am not going to listen. I don’t want to hear.’ She rubbed a shoe vigorously. ‘Don’t go on. If you go on I will clear out of the room and I won’t come back until you stop and you will have to go with one shoe clean and one dirty.’

  ‘I’ll clean it myself.’

  ‘I’ll take the polish away,’ and she grabbed the tin.

  ‘Come back you wretch.’ And Maisie sat again on the top step and continued to clean the shoes, whistling tunes from Gilbert and Sullivan with great speed and justice of intonation.

  To complete poor Philomen’s discomfiture, Sugdeo, with the unfairness of men whose women love them too much, threw all the blame on her and wrote to say that he was finished. Haynes could understand his annoyance, for, according to what Maisie told him later, Sugdeo had cut a rather ludicrous figure, when after a quick knock she slammed open the kitchen door and held up the candle.

  Philomen brought Haynes the letter to read for her.

  ‘What to do, Mr. Haynes?’

  ‘My dear girl, what can I tell you?’

  ‘But it isn’t my fault.’

  ‘I know it isn’t. But that has nothing to do with it. If things only happened to you in life when it was your fault, life would be comparatively simple.’

  ‘Mr. Haynes, if I take a knife and run it in that girl—’

  ‘The police will lock you up and you’ll get hanged or something. You mustn’t think of that. If he loves you he will come back.’

  ‘He may, Mr. Haynes, but I don’t think so. This No. 2 is an unlucky house. All who come into it get a curse on them. Don’t you think so, Mr. Haynes?’

  Haynes thought it over.

  ‘It certainly looks so, Philomen. But I hope it isn’t true.’ And he was surprised at the gravity with which he spoke.

  The Sugdeo incident of itself was a trifle. What made it remarkable, however, was the attitude of Mrs. Rouse. Where under ordinary circumstances she would have taken Philomen’s part, she rated Philomen soundly, Maisie escaping almost blameless. And, however Maisie might rub it in, Mrs. Rouse took no notice. Aucher was away (and was likely to be away for a long time; the City Magistrate was quite tired of him) and Mrs. Rouse had to attend to the stove herself. Of late when that happened she was always much worse than usual. When Philomen complained to Haynes he always did his best to console her. And Philomen did not need much effort to be consoled. But Mrs. Rouse’s behaviour to Philomen grew so unjust and overbearing, and that so quickly, that in less than a fortnight Haynes could not even with honesty and sincerity make excuses to Philomen for the injustices which she was made to suffer. It was not so much the work that Philomen complained of. She would have worked until she dropped. But the insults. If she did anything wrong, and if Sugdeo came to see her (as he did very soon) and Mrs. Rouse saw him, she would throw remarks about coolies and call Philomen to do something inside the house or send her out on some message. Haynes could not understand it at all, and the way Philomen stood it was a wonderful proof of her feeling for Mrs. Rouse. Especially as Gomes, who saw what a good servant Philomen was, always told her that if she wanted a job at any time she could come and work for him. And not that Mrs. Rouse didn’t know that the Gomes job was still open. Maisie told Haynes that she knew, and although Maisie’s hatred of Philomen still continued, yet she continually brought instances of Mrs. Rouse’s treatment of Philomen to Haynes.

  ‘That is the Mrs. Rouse you want me to go and friend up with. Look how she treating Philomen. If you know the things she tells that poor girl. Sugdeo really like her in truth. I don’t know how he have stomach to come back here.’

  Haynes decided to talk to Mrs. Rouse about her treatment of Philomen. For if Mrs. Rouse allowed her temper to drive Philomen away, the business would fall to pieces. Never again would she get a servant who would work and understand the business as well as Philomen.

  One afternoon at about six o’clock Mrs. Rouse told Philomen who had been at it since five in the morning that if she didn’t want to do the work she should leave it. Philomen went crying down the street. Haynes called Mrs. Rouse into the room to talk to her about some money and when he had done so, he said: ‘Philomen is giving you a lot of trouble, Mrs. Rouse?’

  The question took her by surprise. Haynes spoke gently, but the words meant far more than they said.

  ‘Don’t tell him if you don’t get it you will leave, but look as if you will.’ Since the day when Maisie’s advice had proved so successful and he had felt himself a stronger man than old Carritt, Haynes had always borne it in mind and used it at critical moments.

  For a few seconds Mrs. Rouse could not answer. Then she said, turning her eyes away: ‘Philomen and I can’t agree any more, Mr. Haynes. The quicker she leave the better.’

  Haynes was struck dumb for a minute. He had not visualized a deliberate break from the side of Mrs. Rouse. She was not in any sort of temper.

  ‘But, Mrs. Rouse,’ he said, ‘can you afford to lose Philomen?’

  ‘I’ll have to do my best without her, Mr. Haynes.’

  But the sigh that followed the words showed that she realized to the full the implications of what she was saying. And she could not face him. Haynes felt that she was hiding something. He leant forward and put his hand on hers which lay loose on the table. ‘Tell me, Mrs. Rouse, is anything wrong?’

  ‘No, Mr. Haynes. I’ll be sorry for Philomen, but how things are I’d prefer her to go. I won’t tell her so. But I hope she will go when the month is finished.’

  But still she could not look at him and he left the subject there. She went, but ten minutes after came back to say: ‘It has nothing to do with Mr. Benoit, you know, Mr. Haynes. I hope you understand that.’

  ‘I would never have thought that of Philomen,’ said Haynes, who had just privately decided that that could be the only reason. Maisie had no solution. Miss Atwell had none.

  Two
or three days before the end of the month Philomen told Haynes that Gomes had agreed to take her on at the beginning of the new month.

  ‘It is a good job, Mr. Haynes. Mrs. Rouse does pay me three dollars a month and he will pay me four. I wouldn’t have to sleep in the kitchen. I will have a room in the yard and Sugdeo will be able to come and see me as he like. I wouldn’t have to go on any message except to the shop to buy food. And i’s only he, his mother and his sister. And he is away workin’ the whole day.’

  ‘Well, Philomen, if you and Mrs. Rouse can’t agree it’s best that you go. It is very strange I admit. But you are lucky. You are going to have a much easier job and better pay. And you are sure you have done Mrs. Rouse nothing. Don’t cry about it.’

  But her eyes were streaming already.

  ‘But, Mr. Haynes, I can’t understand it. I do Mrs. Rouse nothing. You see how I work here. Nine years I live with Mrs. Rouse and I serve her faithfully. I love her, because she take me from nothing and make me something. And she always treat me kindly. She used to quarrel and so on, but you used to tell me: “Don’t mind, she has troubles,” and I used to bear patiently with her, and when her temper pass she used to tell me: “Philomen, my child, don’t mind when I bawl at you. Sometimes when I think of how that man and woman treat me, I feel I am going mad.” And I used to tell her: “That’s all right, Mrs. Rouse. I’s the same thing Mr. Haynes tell me.” And suddenly so she take behind me, and everything I do she quarrel with me and now she as good as tell me to go.’

  She was sobbing in good earnest.

  ‘But Philomen,’ Haynes tried to cheer her, ‘don’t cry. You are going to be better off where you are. How long has the man been asking you to work with him?’

  ‘Nearly a year, Mr. Haynes,’ she sobbed. ‘But it isn’t that I am studyin’. Why Mrs. Rouse treat me so? I ain’t do her anything, Mr. Haynes. Speak to her for me. Ask her. If i’s anything for me to do I will do it. I ask her if I do anything. She wouldn’t answer.’